Chapter 9 - Changing Hands (CF)
Tubba awoke to a pounding headache and deep red sunlight shining through his eyelids. Every part of his body ached from the vicious assault he had weathered when he last was conscious. Cracking his eyes open to glare at the hard wood he was lying on, Tubba forced his right arm to work. Running it across the back of his neck, he awaited with dread what he would feel when his fingers crossed over the spot where his pounding headache began. He sat bolt upright, ignoring the sudden dizziness racing through him. He had felt bandages on his head. His head was heavier than usually, for Tubba realized it wrapped in a cocoon of gray bandages. Someone had treated his injuries from the Kremlings' assault on him. As he began to recover some sense of his surroundings, Tubba knew he was no longer lying in the town square in Roolkrim. Rather, he was in the hold of yet another ship, but unlike the crude SS Wiffler, which had merely shoved him in the hold with the food to rot, this ship had well designed bars and a hefty padlock keeping him in a small, constrained area with a toilet and a small bed. The walls, floor and ceiling of this tiny room were made of the same, firm wood as the SS Wiffler hold. A cell, with only a tiny window about an arm’s reach above him while standing, with red sunlight filtering through. Directly in front of the bars was a burly Iglator, his spiked shell to Tubba as he lounged in front of the cell, clearly guarding him. Beyond the cell, Tubba could see his club lying against the wall. Iglators were not usually creatures Tubba liked to mess with. There were a few species in the Mushroom World he would prefer not to engage in a fight, such as Kritters or Clubbas, and Iglators were definitely one of them. Burly, padded abs, scaled all over, claws, nine feet at adulthood, spiked tails, the ability to breathe fire, most usually wore spiked bracers on their wrists and neck, heavy spiked shells. Although most people typically cited the former Koopa King Bowser as an Iglator, Bowser only had minor Iglator blood. He was more Firebreath Koopa than Iglator - Firebreath Koopas were all but extinct in the pure form, but they were much less lanky than normal Iglators - closer to the Clubban line than the Iglator line, consequently, they were much more compressed and had less distinct limbs - Clubbas were lacking necks. This was a pure Iglator, Tubba could tell, by the longer legs and arms and thinner head. "You're awake?" The guttural growl of the Iglator startled Tubba, making him jump. Tubba nodded, the Iglator did not seem aggressive. A possibility occurred to Tubba - the Iglators had seen him being beat up and had rescued him from the Kremlings. The Iglator was clearly male, judging by the colour of his head - green, like all males. The flowing mullet of ice blue hair that shrouded his horns matched the colour of his shell, and his eyes were not burning with hatred, only curiosity. "You should be glad we came along when we did. You were taking quite the beating. What's your name?" The Iglator asked, leaning casually against the bars. Tubba may have screwed up with Kremstag, but there was no way he was telling an Iglator from the Zaz Kingdom, a Kingdom whose King he had helped kill, what his full name was. "Gonzales.” Tubba blurted out the first name that came to his head; the name of his long-lost, oldest friend, Gonzales. Gonzales had been missing for six years, but that did not stop the guilt at using his likely deceased friend’s name. “Gonzales, huh?” The Iglator stuck his hand through the bars, clearly intending to shake Tubba’s hand. Tubba did so, noticing that although the Iglator had the appearance of being friendly, he did not concede his name, nor did he invite Tubba out of the cell. “You damaged your parietal lobe of your brain.” The Iglator grunted after a brief pause. “It wasn’t much - the skull damage was the major issue - but you may struggle to have sensations that don’t travel through the spinal cord reflex arc.” “Parietal lobe...?” Tubba glanced at his hands, before setting it down on the wood. To his surprise, he felt only a minor feeling of the wood against his hands. He could see his hands resting on the wood, but he could only vaguely feel the ground, as if someone had numbed his fingers. “Yeah, that’s what the medics tell me.” The Iglator nodded. “They also said your brain will probably recover that function in a few weeks to months. So you’ll live.” His mouth cracked into a smile, but once again, he did not invite Tubba out of the small cell. This half-frostiness, half-friendliness was the new normal Tubba became used to. For once again, he was spending weeks in unfamiliar presence. Not once was he allowed to leave the little cell, but neither was he mistreated. While it had been early Month Mushroom when he first encountered Kremstag after the SS Wiffler debacle, it was now late Month Mushroom. Ten weeks had passed, and the temperatures were taking a turn for the colder, although, since they were travelling south at roughly the same rate as the weather, it seemed like they were stuck in eternal winter. Tubba received heavy meals three times a day, and was permitted to ask his guarding Iglator for a snack anytime he desired. He held conversations with the Iglator guarding him, often speaking about common interests such as history - Tubba had an aptitude in Clubban history, and this Iglator knew a lot about the Zaz Kingdom, stories Tubba had never heard of. But as had become the norm, this kindness was met with a sort of cruelty in that Tubba never learned the name of the Iglator guarding him, nor where they were going, and where the Kremlings, his last friends, were. The last question, on the location of the Kremlings, was answered for him. It had begun like any normal day in captivity. Tubba had been so used to being on the run and changing hands from “caretakers,” that he no longer felt anxiety as to where he was headed. It was clear that the Iglators were not taking him to any of the Kingdoms that intended to persecute him, judging by their proper and humane treatment of him. However, rather than the meandering travel of the ship through the waters - a process Tubba had been getting used to - the ship instead docked on one of the southernmost ports at the Zaz Kingdom, according to the Iglator guarding him - Tubba only had a tiny window in his cell, and he could not see any light from anywhere else in the hold. Having only been to the Zaz Kingdom once, and that to the central island, which was thick with forests and fauna of primarily the evergreen variety. But he had read on the southern isles, which were apparently lush rainforests and very rarely received snow due to their proximity to the equator of the Mushroom World. Tubba had just been relaxing luxuriously on his bed in the cell, when a massive boom rocked the ship, knocking him off the bed and roughly onto the floor. Tubba had fallen on all fours onto the hard timber of the ship, and as he looked up at the hanging artificial light above his head, the light, along with the ship was rocking back and forth with the momentum from the blast. Another loud reverberation from the very belly of the ship and the subsequent movement of the ship indicated to Tubba that the Zaz ship had cannons - an idea Tubba presumed, was logical, for the Zaz ship was one of the same ships that had stormed Roolkrim along with the fleet of Zaz ships. “What’s going on?” Tubba shot at the Iglator guarding him, who was looking confusedly down the narrow hallway between cells to the stairs that led to the higher decks. “I’ve got no idea,” the guttural response came back, fixing Tubba with an equally bewildered dark-eyed stare. “I’m going to go check it out.” The Iglator didn’t wait for Tubba’s response, immediately setting off on a run to the stairwell that led to the deck, his blue hair waving in the wind generated by his speed. “Wait! Igla-!” Tubba shouted after him, but the Iglator was already gone by the time the first word was out of his mouth. Once again, Tubba was all but helpless as an unknown force stormed a ship he was captive on. At least aboard the SS Wiffler, Tubba had his grandfather’s club, but now, on the Zaz ship, all he had was himself, with his head wrapped in a cocoon of gray bandages and very tender. Footsteps on the upper deck alerted Tubba, he could clearly hear the snarling and grunts of a battle taking place on. Furiously slamming the bars of the jail with his meaty hands - they were docked, if only he could escape the jail, in the chaos of a battle against an unknown entity, Tubba could slip away into the jungles of the Zaz Kingdom, and allow his dream for Clubban independence to be reborn in the jungles. Before Tubba could do anything in his cell to attempt an escape other than furiously banging on the bars, he heard heavy footsteps thumping their way down the stairs, clunking on the firm wood. Expecting to see his guarding Iglator race down the stairs and into the hold, he was gobsmacked when he saw a certain average-sized brown Kritter with a pirate’s hat. “Thank Cloansar,” Tubba grunted. “Welcome, Kremstag.” The brown Kritter was scanning the hold, his eyes raking the area questioningly, before they settled on Tubba and narrowed. Kremstag took a few powerful strides to the bars, before swinging his heavy mace onto the padlock, smashing it through. Kremstag heaved the jail door open, before taking a step in. “You.” Kremstag narrowed the gap between him and Tubba, forcing Tubba to take an unconscious step back. “How dare you betray my trust?” He growled out the words, as if it pained him to speak them. “I take you to Kremvard. I take you under my wing, despite protests from the other Kremlings. I take pity on you.” Kremstag pointed the spiky end of the mace at Tubba, continuing to back him up against the wall. “But I find you’re conniving with the Zaz Kingdom, and Kremvard is no longer the safe haven it used to be. How dare you? How dare you?” “Kremstag, you’ve got it all wrong.” Tubba realized, panic jolting through him. “I’m in a Cloansar-forsaken jail cell. Do you really think I’ve just colluded with the Zaz Kingdom?” Kremstag advanced, pushing his spiked mace to within an inch of Tubba’s eyes. Their eyes met over the spiked mace. Tubba narrowed his own eyes in fury as he met Kremstag’s eyes burning with hatred. He was never one to talk too much. If Kremstag wanted a fight, he could have one - Tubba might be bruised and battered, but he would not lie down if Kremstag would be up for a fight. “I don’t believe you,” Kremstag snarled, “you were with them the whole time. The whole time! This is all a ruse!” Kremstag held the mace at Tubba’s eye-level, refusing to move the spikes from their perilous location. “Is it, Kremstag? Open your eyes.” Tubba muttered back nastily. His back was up against the wall of the tiny cell, and Kremstag was in front of him. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Kremstag pushed the mace even closer, so that the first spike was resting against Tubba’s face. “My eyes have set themselves on a treasonous traitor, that’s what. All I have to do is twitch my hand and you’ll be finished. I’ve done this a lot.” Kremstag twitched his free left hand, as if hoping to intimidate Tubba. Tubba kicked out with his right foot, making sure to stomp Kremstag’s foot as hard as possible. In the same fluid movement, he leaned his upper body backwards, preventing the mace from cutting his face as Kremstag immediately moved forward. Leaning away from the mace, Tubba jerked his head forward and slammed Kremstag’s abs, ignoring the light and pain exploding in his head as he headbutted Kremstag away from him. In the brief space he had generated, Tubba leapt past Kremstag - who tore out some scales with a slash as Tubba ran past - and out of the cell, still reeling from the intentional blow to his head. Two Kremstags made their way out of the cell, but Tubba had already grabbed Karubba’s club from the wall. “Kremstag, I’m not your enemy!” Tubba roared at Kremstag, his head swooning. Kremstag didn’t bother justifying Tubba’s plea with a reply, merely racing forward and forcing Tubba to block twice with his club as the heavy mace attempted to gore Tubba’s face. Tubba ducked under a wild swing of the mace, before swinging his own club viciously into Kremstag’s midsection. The Kritter lurched backwards, tearing out bits of the wood from the floor with his feet. “Anyone in the league with the Zazites is an enemy of mine!” Kremstag bellowed, racing forward again, forcing Tubba to block once again with Karubba’s club. Kremstag, instead of swinging back from the parry for another blow, held the spiked mace there while forcing intense pressure on it, attempting to force it through Tubba’s defence and disarm his club. Tubba screamed in frustration and exertion. “Kremstag, COME OFF IT!” He shouted, pushing himself forward and breaking the lock Kremstag had put them into, thrusting Kremstag away from him. The Kritter spun, eventually coming a stop a few feet away, glaring at him, his spiked mace ready to swing again. The exit to the hold - the stairs - were behind Kremstag. The tension in the air between Kremstag and Tubba was so thick, it could have been cut with the proverbial knife. A pause came between the two panting figures and the daggers being glared across the hold of the ship. Tubba realized that this was his opportunity, his only chance to get the bullheaded Kritter to see sense, that Tubba was not his enemy, and had not betrayed his trust. “Kremstag, listen.” Tubba’s voice came out hastily, betraying his desperation. His head was spinning, he was seeing double... there was no way he would win the fight against Kremstag. “I’m as much a victim here as you are. I didn’t mess around with the Zazites and stab you in the back, Kremstag! It was your friends who knocked me out in Roolkrim!” Kremstag relaxed his muscles, coming out of his position that betrayed his readiness for battle - muscles taut, knees bent, back hunched over, fists clenched, into one of more relaxation, standing straight upright. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he tilted his head. “Damarus did tell me about that. So? The Zazites invaded Roolkrim... they took over Roolkrim, they thrashed my loyal soldiers.... Yet only you were taken as a hostage by their ships - everyone else? They told us to get on our ships and shove off from the land we had created, or be drowned.” Putting his brown-scaled hand under his chin, scratching his stubble with his salient claws, Kremstag spoke the next words slowly, pondering every word. “And if you weren’t in the league with the Zazites... wouldn’t they have done the same to you? You were no more injured than Damarus in that fight - he too, was knocked unconscious. But Damarus was woken up and evicted like the rest of us Kremlings. You weren’t.” The Kritter’s fist clenched. “I came here to get revenge on the Zazites, but it looks like I’ll get my quotient of blood from a traitor.” Tubba let out a roar of frustration at Kremstag’s inability to see what was right in front of him, but he had had enough of talking. He would fight, as poor of a condition he was in. Sparks flew from the connection of the heavy spiked mace and the spiked head of club, Tubba swinging, putting his large frame behind it as to ensure Kremstag’s effort to clobber him merely ended in a parry. Again, Kremstag swung, but the redundancy was obvious - sparks flew from the heavy connection, both strong species held their ground, but neither was closer to winning the battle. Pacing around each other in a circle, Tubba smirked. Kremstag had exposed the staircase. Their positions were now reversed. Tubba spun on his heels and raced to the staircase, leaping the stairs two at a time as he desperately attempted to get away from the furious Kritter, whose panting and heavy breath he could feel on what remained of his tail. Bright light dazzled in Tubba’s eyes as he raced out onto the deck of the ship, taking in the frenzy in front of him. Many, tall Iglators were grappling with their smaller counterparts, the Kritters, over the large deck, some tripping over the various ropes holding up the sails, others being pushed up against the rail separating the ship from the ocean, and others being hurled against the cannons equidistant from each other near the railings. Tubba barely acknowledged that the ship was among the most grand he had ever seen, from the tall, billowing sails to the crafted steps that led up the wheel behind him, as he had to dodge a black-shelled Iglator who was currently up in arms with a large red Kritter - Damarus. Damarus tackled the Iglator down the stairs that Tubba had just ascended, where Kremstag, who was on the top stair, attempted to sidestep the hulking ball of muscle and spikes hurling toward him, but instead was hit head-on by Damarus’ back, sending him flying down the stairs. Thanking Cloansar for the sudden stroke of luck, Tubba realized that the ship was docked, for although the sails were blowing in the heavy wind, the boat was moving nowhere, and just over the railing near the stern, Tubba could see sand. Land. Running past some battling Kremlings, Karubba’s club slapping awkwardly against his knees, he leapt over the railing separating the ship from the land, and landed heavily twenty feet below in the water. Paddling as best he could - an inability to swim had haunted him his whole life - he reached the beach, seeing Kremstag appear over the railing as the soft sands began to tickle the undersides of his feet. Pushing his legs into action, despite the effort sending his legs into a fury. Throwing up sand as he raced to the palm trees beyond, he heard the heavy splash as Kremstag landed in the water behind him, before swimming strongly over to the beach. Haring through the trees, at top speed, shoving creepers and intruding vines off of him, Tubba cast a glance behind him, to see, to his horror, Kremstag was gaining ground fast, having already entered the trees behind him. Clearly more comfortable in the jungle setting, the Kritter was on all fours, gaining on him by multiple steps every, long, arching stride he took. His eyes burned with a fury that Tubba had only seen present in his own eyes before. Pushing his body into a desperate effort to regain ground on Kremstag, he knew it was hopeless. Kremstag was now close enough that Tubba could see the glint of his teeth in the rays of sunlight piercing the canopy. A blue blur raced past his eyeline. Tubba barely had time to register that a magic blast, pulsing with energy and the typical three shapes of Magikoopas flying through the air behind it, had flown past him and toward Kremstag, before the Kritter was thrown backwards, where his head slammed a tree. His pursuer slumped to the ground, his hands limp and his captain’s hat slipping off his head, Tubba gasped for breath as he saw Captain Kremstag was now knocked out. Turning to see his saviour, he saw a young, yellow-robed Magikoopa. His young eyes - he did not wear the typical spectacles that Magikoopas normally did - glinted with brightness as he approached his elder, the exhausted red Clubba. “Nice to meet you. I’m Galmajo.”